


Mares of the Night

by Ghelik



Series: Life after the Mountain [11]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Aftermath, Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dark, F/M, Fear, Murphy-centric, Post-Mount Weather, Post-Season/Series 02, unbetad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-02
Updated: 2016-07-02
Packaged: 2018-07-19 14:55:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7366156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ghelik/pseuds/Ghelik
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After his ordeal in Azgeda, Murphy tries not to sleep. This is why.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mares of the Night

Murphy is sitting cross-legged on the metal floor of his family’s living-quarters, his back against his bunk and a coloring book open in front of him. Half a red crayon his father had gotten him in the Exchange a few weeks ago securely held in his chubby little hand.

 

 He’s drawing a background to the dolphin already colored a bright yellow and covered with green and pink flowers. The dolphin has red eyes and looks badass. From all the animals in his coloring book, this one is the best, and he is trying to cover the array of sharks and whales printed all over the page so that the dolphin is the only thing there.

  
"Johnny-boy!" his father's voice comes from the other side of the door.

  
Murphy stands up quickly, picking his book up to show his progress to his dad. The metal door slides open to a small dining hall made of wood, surrounded by glass-less windows. Stars glint in the distance and earth hangs like a giant blue jewel close enough to touch. It’s cold in the dining hall. 

 

Shouldn’t the windows be closed?

  
His mother smiles up at him when he enters. Her puke-covered hair is matted against the side of her face, and the bloodshot eyes look dead. She stands by the table, a giant bowl in her hands.

  
"Come, sit," says his mom, still smiling.

  
She leaves the bowl on the table and turns to an old-looking stove. Murphy has to jump to reach the chair. He pulls himself up until he’s able to stand on the seat. The table reaches up to his chest with him standing on the chair. The plate in front of him is metallic, dented.

  
His mom turns from the stove, and her hair catches fire. She does not seem to notice as she walks over, puts a pan on the table and sits down.

  
"John, I’ve told you a thousand times, no standing on the chairs."

  
Murphy plops down. The table is still too high for him, but he can put his hands on top of it. He wants to tell her about the fire in her hair, but when he tries no words come out of his mouth.

  
She reaches for his hand and bows her head like she always does to bless their food.

 

 "We thank you, Lord, for soon enough justice will be made."

  
"Amen," he mumbles under his breath.

  
Then she stands back up, so that she’s looming over him, the stink of alcohol, piss, and puke on her is overwhelming. She puts the giant bowl on top of his dented plate.

  
"Eat, baby. You need to grow."

  
He’s never had so much food in front of him in his life, so he takes the fork and dips it into the bowl with gusto. Scooping the mass of worms and cockroaches inside. The fork is halfway to his mouth when he notices the insects squirming, impaled on his fork and his stomach twists.

  
Murphy puts the fork down, quickly and pushes away from the table. Someone laughs.

  
"What a brat."

  
Ontari’s sitting opposite from him, her dirty boots propped onto the table. She’s cleaning her fingernails with the tip of her wicked knife.

  
"John." His mother cards her fingers through his hair, exactly like Ontari likes to do. A shiver runs down his spine. "Eat your food."

  
When he doesn’t move, she pulls hard on his hair, pulling his head backward and tipping the bowl into his mouth. He feels the cockroaches crawling all over his face and down his throat, the worms squirming.

  
He can’t breathe.

  
His stomach heaves.

  
Ontari chuckles. "Pathetic."

  
Murphy shoots a venomous look in the Commander's direction.

  
"Where’s dad?" Murphy manages to choke out, cheeks covered in tears, insects crawling out of his mouth and down his chin, up his face. He wants to wipe them away, but his arms don't respond. 

  
His father wouldn’t let this happen. Ontari smiles sweetly, his mom looks murderous.  
  


"Your father?" His mother shouts into his ear. "You want to know where your father is?"

  
She grabs him from by the collar of his shirt, the rope digging into his throat and hauls him to one of the windows.  
  


What he thought were stars are pale corpses, floating in space, their eyes big and empty like his mother’s, mouths hanging open, trying to fill their lungs with air. His father’s hanging there, pointing a bony finger at Murphy, mouth open like a black bottomless cave.

  
"He’s right where you put him!" screeches his mother. Her whole body is on fire now, but she doesn’t notice. For once the fire doesn't look inviting or beautiful. "It should have been you, you worthless piece of shit!"

 

 Her booming voice is deafening. It spears through Murphy, burrowing deep beneath his skin, every word rining, painful and true. 

 

She’s trying to push him out of the window, and he’s shouting for help. His voice pitifully low. Like he's screaming in the void, nobody can hear him. 

  
"You shouldn’t kill him. That would be leaving him off easy," Ontari sounds extremely reasonable. "Let’s kill them instead."

  
He turns to the grounder. She stands by the table, on top of which sits Droptwo. Murphy watches impotently as the city goes up in flames. He can smell the charred flesh and hear the screams of people trying to climb over the fence and being electrocuted instead. Emori’s terryified eyes look accusingly up at him.  
  


"Stop it," he hears himself whisper. Small and pathetic.

  
"You made me watch as they killed the love of my life," snarls his mother; her fist unforgiving in his hair, the smell of alcohol, puke and piss so overwhelming he can't even breathe. His eyes sting with tears. "Now I will do the same for you."

  
He’s burning, too. But the fire doesn’t hurt him– not like it hurts everyone else inside the skikru city.

  
The fire is going out, slowly and he’s left alone in the dining-room.  
  


The air smells like charred flesh and alcohol and puke. 

 

Murphy tries the door, but it’s closed. The windows are closed too, and he would gladly jump out if only he only could. But he can’t, and the weight of everything is too heavy on his shoulders.

  
This is not the end. He will not die here.  
  


He kicks at the door, pushing it with all that he has.  
  


This is not how his story ends!

  
He.  
  


Will.  
  


Not.  
  


Die.  
  


Here.

**Author's Note:**

> As always this is unbetad  
> Thanks for reading and commenting


End file.
